“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Gentlemen, be brilliant for my first number. The Baron du Châtelet and his cuttlefish bone will not last for a week, and the writer of Le Solitaire is worn out.”
“And ‘Sosthenes-Demosthenes’ is stale too,” said Vernou; “everybody has taken it up.”
“The fact is, we want a new set of ninepins,” said Frédéric.
“Suppose that we take the virtuous representatives of the Right?” suggested Lousteau. “We might say that M. de Bonald has sweaty feet.”
“Let us begin a series of sketches of Ministerialist orators,” suggested Hector Merlin.
“You do that, youngster; you know them; they are your own party,” said Lousteau; “you could indulge any little private grudges of your own. Pitch into Beugnot and Syrieys de Mayrinhac and the rest. You might have the sketches ready in advance, and we shall have something to fall back upon.”
“How if we invented one or two cases of refusal of burial with aggravating circumstances?” asked Hector.